I feel of barely spoken things today
That break upon my thoughts like foamy waves
And every moment as a picture saves,
this tide that takes my breath away
It washes me anew with freedom, gay
such that in being I should no thing crave
And nothing may my pen for long off-stave
What will record of this, that I must say--
\"Who speaks to you in their quiet little frown
hear not their thoughts, but their heart-- which is in yours
She walks alone in this troubled little town
On streets on stone marked by barred and shuttered doors
not wondered by the eyes that hide behind them
or whispered of in enshrouded intercourse\"